Bierstadt and Evans: birthday weekend double

Morning camp at 11,700 feet

Sawtooth traverse between peaks

After the gulley, before the swamp

Top of Bierstadt (14,060'), top of Evans (14,264').

Escarpment Trail Run 2013 race report

This was my second go at Escarpment Trail, a 30k trail race in the Catskills with about 5000 feet each of altitude gain and descent.  What a difference a year can make!  Escarpment was one of my favorite races last year, and it was just as great this year even though half the field was comprised of first-timers - including Nathan.  I also have the privilege of running two rainy Escarpments in a row.

Did you know that running in the rain is one of my favorite past-times?  Magic happens in the rain.  Meditative, calming, purposeful magic.  I've had quite a string of races in the rain or inclimate weather.  I hope they continue.

The start was slow, since the crowd of 200 has to wait their turn to enter the singletrack and cross the footbridge before ascending the first hill of the day.  I took the time to say hello to Heather, who was last year's female winner.  She flew down the steep and technical decline off of Blackhead, passed me as if she were a freight train and I were standing still.  I told her I expected no less this year.

With a few more ultras under my belt and a lot more regular mileage this year, my ascent up the first hill was significantly more power hiking.  Nathan told me the night before that I am always very conservative in races and that this time I should go for it.  Knowing the climbs that awaited, and with my big goal race only a month and a half away, I couldn't help but fall into my usual ascending gear.  As the switch-backs became more directly steep I was able to begin passing those who jogged their way past their anaerobic threshold.  The few times I checked over my shoulder found Nathan within fifty yards each time.

We hit the first aid station at the top of the climb, a giant bolder with a three foot drop to the trail before winding back down.  People were already falling and tripping over the endless rocks that make east coast trails so technical.  The line of runners had slowed, especially as people took aid, so when three fells teetered toward the water and gatorade I crossed oblique to the continuing trail.  Just at the edge I slipped.  Both feet went at once, and I simply landed on the trail standing on my feet, with one hand on the shoulder of Green Singlet Guy.  I thanked him, and started our way down.

The line of runners greatly compacted so that any technical drop meant waiting an extra 10-15 seconds before taking your turn.  I started getting frustrated, though I reminded myself that I probably was not descending much faster over those same spots.  I have improved with my descents though I don't have much access to this level of technical training, so granny-gear it was.

While squashed in yet another queue on a ledge I met Mr. Blue Tank as elbowed me to the side, claiming "Passing left."  Seriously, where are you doing to go?  He was bigger than me and so got past before I had a chance to knock some sense into him about maintaining safety and courtesy while passing.  He tried the same crap with Green Singlet Guy who held ground, "Dude, you gotta wait until there's some place to go."  Mr. Blue obliged with a petty "Aw, sorry man.  Okay."  F***er.

The traverse over the next two "smaller" ups/downs was a bit tedious thanks to Mr. Blue, whose Salomon Speedcross did no good for his stability.  He kept running (well, more like when aerobics class routine rests while marching in place) uphill and slipped every fifth step, a handful of them falls.  I just wanted to get away from him, but there wasn't much chance.  Plus, in order to pass him I'd have to run the gauntlet that was Mr. Wobbly Blue.  I prefer to stay positive during races, and he was most definitely detracting from the magic.  A guy behind me murmured "He's gotta slow down.  He's really gonna hurt himself."

As one of he climbs leveled off a volunteer/race supported was up in a tree counting off our current place.  70... 71... 72... 73... 5th female... 75... 76....  Wobble Poop and another guy exchanged huffy commends about four women being in front of them.  They obviously wanted to sound macho like they could avoid getting "chicked."  Too bad, f***ckers, they've already smoked you royally.

Suddenly from up ahead we heard yelling.  "Bees!  Bees!  Ah!  Bees!"  The guys ahead slowed as they reached that point.  My sentiments were echoed by the same guy behind me, "Just go through fast and leave them alone."  Finally my turn, and I'm behind Weeble Wobble who, like clockwork, fell splat onto his side half way through the bee run and nearly took me out with him.  He also managed to get stung along the way.  I was at a standstill waiting for him to get up, opted to give a half hearted, "You okay?  Got all your stuff still?"  He mumbled "Yea..." and off we trotted again. 

For the record, me: no actual falls, zero stings.  Mr. Wobbly Blue Poophead Magic Killer: a dozen falls, at least one bee sting.

Just saying.

We survived the long, steep, technical descend and landed at the base of Blackhead.  Wobble was, mercifully, somewhere out of my face.  I realized now that Nathan was still within reach behind me.  Way to go!  That was a much nicer sentiment with which to begin the climb.  Last year I had my hands on my knees the entire time, my pace slowed to a crawl, and I had to stop a few times briefly so as to exert a laborious sigh (because that helps in such times, right?).  This year was dramatically different.  I was itching to pass the guy in front of me, but his pace was steady enough for the first half that I kept right on his heels.  Once his cadence started slowing I asked to sneak by when had a chance (politely!) and kept on trucking.  By then I had lost Nathan.  I felt it, but not like before.  I felt steady.  I wasn't speed climbing like the leaders, but my ascent was probably only 3/4 the time it took last year.  Magic, salvaged from the doom of wobbleness.

This is what the top chunk of Blackhead's climb looks like, to give you an idea.  The video is of Ben Nephew, the same Naked Bald Guy from Traprock and Escarpment last year.  He has won Escarpment some 7 (or more?) times and still holds the course record.

The descent similarly required, for me, use of both hands on trees and to slide down on my butt for some of the drops.  My wedding band kept catching along the way, so I removed it and tucked it inside the magnetically closed mini pocket on my hydration bag.  (UltrAspire bags?  Awesome.)  I push myself to descend faster than usual, but it probably only qualifies as granny gear-gear-in-a-rush.  I found myself nicely in pace with guys in blue and white tank who was running Escarpment for the 21st time.  Should he run next year, that'll put him into the 400 mile club (enough races to accumulate 400 miles of this race).  He's an awfully nice fellow to everyone, the type one often encounters at trail ultras.  I now feel renewed hope for the human race.  I also find out he lived in Auburn, NY for a bit, and he gets excited to hear than Nathan is from there too.  We found out while chatting after the race that they had the same cross country coach, albeit many years between their tenures.

Out of nowhere came a female voice asking to pass.  "It's about time!" I yelled.  "Go for it!"  Heather squealed with delight as she bombed past.  Deja vu.  Couldn't be happier to have anyone else pass me.  Well, only were it Nathan, but that goes without saying.

Eventually we get to the bottom.  I still felt some pep, and took off on my power hike to catch Heather on the ascent.  This last climb has two false top-outs with runnable though rocky sections.  You just have to assume continued climbing until you see the crashed plane.  First timers, including myself last year, want to anticipate how they are doing and thus anticipate their progress toward the top.  In this kind of race it leads to frustration more than anything else.  Just assume up, and be pleasantly surprised when you suddenly top out and can course down.  I passed a handful of guys on this climb, their pace slowed to a walk/hike from having lost their steam.  I wondered how Nathan was doing.  A few of the guys reported one or two females within the next couple hundred feet ahead.  I lost my sprinting overdrive when I left high school track, but I started hoofing it on all terrain to the most I could sustain.

At what turned out to be about 100 yards before the plane I happily powered past Wobble for what would be the last time, so focused that the internal wobble-woes were gone and I simply smiled as I passed, and then found Heather.  We exchanged supportive words, and I left her with "I gotta get as big of a buffer as I can.  I know I'll see you soon!"  The rest of the course was a handful of flat sections breaking up the one long descent to the finish.  If flat or inclined I had definite advantage, but for declined Heather was guaranteed to catch up fast.  She also reported the third female was just ahead and catchable.  I don't think I've ever been so close to so many women vying for that third podium spot in a trail race before.  Thankfully the needed effort is easier on an 18 mile race than with my usual distances. 

A few flats and downs, and I saw the woman currently holding third place.  She seemed to have faded.  We exchanged a few nice words, and I took off knowing my position was nowhere near guaranteed.  Still booking it on the flats, catching a few more guys in the process.  Trying my best concerted effort on the technical drops but just not capable of doing nearly what is needed.  The flat sections became narrow overlooks or ledges with twenty-plus foot drops off one side.  Last year I walked these, opting for calm and steady progress to finish whole in lieu of speed.  This year I went for it, Nathan's words echoing in my head.  I slipped on one ledge, my left leg sliding off the edge and dangling as I landed - graciously - on bulky soft tissue areas instead of on my knees.  Glad the ledge had no sideways slant, or else I'd have flown off course and would be stuck in the brush way down below.  As I got up the guy ahead yelled "That just happened to me too!" and he wished me luck as I passed in continued fervor.

As expected, Heather caught me again while I was using both hands to help slide down on some four-plus foot drops.  She was still encouraging, "You have lots more left than me.  Go for it!"  "I'm trying, really I am!  You go for it, Miss Downhill!"  I still tried, yo-yo-ing up on flats and falling back on declines, managing to stay within 50 feet.  A supporter reported we were a tenth of a mile from the finish.  I gave it my best "sprint," which is quite the comical scene these days.

I closed in was only about five seconds behind Heather, but ultimately finished fourth female and 49th overall in 4:20:44.  That bested my time from last year by about seven and a half minutes, so cannot argue with that. 

Nathan finished in just over 4:33, and had a bloody knee and elbow from taking four falls along the way. 

Harriman State Park - 17 miles by the string

My planned route intended 14 miles by the string (measured on a flat map and thus lacking the additional mileage due traveling at an angle while gaining/losing elevation) as my run followed by a 4 mile hike out with the boys from Lake Wanoksink to the train at Sloatsburg.  Nathan, who is nearly recovered from his last race earlier this month, still feels it a little.  Hence recruitment of John, to pace Nathan and give him a day of slower and yet still long miles.  For all parties the intention was a good time out and nothing more. 

John and Nathan on the train

The Pine Meadow red trail began a mile from the train station and was relatively unmaintained until getting close to the visitor's center a mile in.

Residual from the previous night's rain helped clean the bug spray from our shins.

At the split with a yellow marked trail I continued straight while the boys headed north.  Not too much later came the orange marked trail that in either direction offers nice elevation.  I intended to go north, as the vertical gain becomes more of a rock scramble to lead to the top of Halfway Mountain (1200 feet).  But when I soon hit the orange trail I saw this in front of me -- up! -- and the idea of checking which direction this headed never occurred to me. 

Which way?  Up!  'Cause up is where the fun is.

Supposedly I'd hit a scenic view very soon, once 1/3 up the side of Halfway Mountain.  I found one, and felt proud of myself for remembering my directions without use of my map.  At this point my map was still stored in my hydration pack, as was my camera, and since I was already taking the pack off/on/off/on to take pictures I became too lazy to take it off again for a map check.  Didn't seem pertinent unless I were to encounter an unexpected turn or crossing, since thus far everything went according to plan.  Little did I know that I was actually headed south.

First scenic view, believed to be the unknown view from part way up Halfway Mountain when in fact this was Russian Bear to the south. 

I expected to merge with yellow and blue marked trails before continuing on blue.  I didn't remember what elevation changes to expect in the mean time, and -- since for some reason I love wild grasses -- was happy to find the trail single track decline through a meadow of sorts.

Wild grass.  Love it.

I kept my eye out but saw no other trail crossings.  Did I miss them?  Well, I thought, if so then I'll keep on until this trail hits Lake Sebago and turn northeast on trails paralleling my original route.  Not so tough to miss a lake.  Instead of a lake I hit another view, ten times better than before.  Oh, maybe the add-on trails weren't well marked and I only now his the second un-named scenic view labelled on the map?  Came a bit later than I expected.  Then again, plotting via mileage by the string means you could have double the distance between two points than you expected.  Okay, onward ho.

This was actually Ramapo Torne, overlooking the town of Ramapo and, in the far distance, the New York/New Jersey state line.

I continue along, but then realize that the orange seems never ending.  I should hit the lake straight on, so where is it?  Meanwhile I have lovely vagary to guide me between small painted markings on trees.  This is when I remember how old grad school has made my eyes, as I keep having to stop at one marking and scan for the next one, because I could imagine three route from where I stand.  

If you see a "maintained trail" in this, then you need to be my eyes from now on.  Psha.

Soon I get an ingenious idea.  My wallet items are in a ziplock type of dry bag that is likely big enough for my camera and, once folded in half again, my map.  I'll swap the wallet stuff into the map's cheap plastic ziplock.  Behold!  I no longer have to remove my pack for pictures and map checks.  True genius at times.  This is when I hear my more sarcastic friends in my head asking "So, tell us the name of your blog again...?"  I hit a downhill and wondered if again my interpretation of distances was incorrect and I was now heading downhill towards Lake Sebago.

Whence I came.

Whither I continue.

I head down for a good 15 minutes and then, lo!  I hit the blue trail.  I check my map, look at my accrued time -- slow moving or underestimated distance? -- shrug my shoulders and carefully take a right turn.  I worry that it'll be a much longer day than expected should I go for the full plotted course, particularly since I started with only 2 liters of fluid.  The blue trail was flat and rather unremarkable, save for a doe sighting, so I took comfort in making up for lost time.  In my head I was pondering whether to take the next forest road southeast so that I didn't end up farther than I could safely travel in one day.  Then the blue hit a red trail that ran perpendicular.  Yes, still on course!  Wait, the blue bottoms out, but the map says its supposed to continue for another mile.  Oh dear.  Map check.

I was still quite confused, stood there for a minute trying to figure it out.  Where's the lake?  This was supposed to actually hit the lake when meeting the next trail, but that's only if I was still on orange.  Wait, yes, I was on blue and am now at red.  I then heard cars and a couple motorcycles coming from straight ahead.  Hang on, none of the roads are supposed to go through here.  Ohmygoodness, have I landed across on the east side of the park by Hwy 202?  No way.  It sounds like a parking lot, there'll be an official map with location labelled, right?

I head up the red trail the 1/8 of a mile and, wait... wait for it... wait for it....  Synapse!  I've seen this before.  Could it be?  Noooo, I didn't end up at the visitor's center did I?  I get closer and realize that, yes, that is exactly what I did.  I look at the map, trace the orange trail south past two scenic views, follow it's swoop westward, see the blue, follow that north and northeast.  I did a loop.  A friggin loop when there's miles of trails headed everywhere.  Sonofabitch.  

Is that the...?  Yes, Miss Smartypants, that is the visitor's center back at the start.  Think you're sooo clever, "I don't need no stinkin' map, I got it all up here" *tap*tap*.  Sigh. 

Well, I said aloud to the bugs and the bushes, at least I know where I am, and at least I'm still within distance of the rendezvous.

And so off I went on the same start as before.  Pine Meadow trail marked red.  Only this time I chose the yellow route that cuts along the north edge of the creek so that I wasn't technically retracing my steps.  Yellow turned to white, which was a rock mess.  The picture below does no justice to the lots-of-boulders surface requiring a horizontal rock scramble.  I just didn't have the heart to take a picture of the evil stuff because I was so over that section.  There's nothing useful about a rock scramble unless you go up or down, or unless you are skirting an actual body of water.  Pointless judgements, but whatever.  Grumble grumble grumble.  Oh right, this is why I need to run with people, because then you don't wanna give up so fast once taxed.  Mental note.

White trail, also not clear aside from being able to see the next white marker over yonder.  Grumble.

I made it to the red trail, somehow the Pine Meadow trail that spontaneously jumped sides of the creek.  The surface under foot helped my mood, and again I reassured myself that I knew where I was, and this was a good thing since I left my phone at home.  I don't get service in the mountains anyways, and I sweat enough that ev-er-y-thing needs to be okay covered in sweat or needs a dry bag.  But not having it made me worry while I was in trail limbo land.  The first small lake, Pine Meadow Lake, should be very soon, which means the rendezvous lake, Lake Wanoksink, was very soon thereafter.  I looked forward to the swim to help dissolve what grumbles I had left.

Staying positive.  Did I ever mention that my latest love is a visor?  Hate the logo, but it does its job well.  More like a sweat band with a brim.  Which is what a "sweat ball," as Nathan calls me, needs.

Within five more minutes I hit Pine Meadow Lake.  Aaaah.  This time landmarks appeared in an expected amount of time.

Pine Meadow Lake.  Super nice to camp next to, according to John. 

I find a likely looking forest road, have a good feeling about it, and pull north toward what I hoped was the Lake Wanoksink.  It was, and that's where I landed.  I saw two shirts drying on a bush that looked quite familiar.  I saw John sitting on a log, having just come from a swim in the water.  I immediately de-geared, hung my sweaty shirt out to dry after wringing it out.  Twice.

Lake Wanoksink.  Whew.

Nathan had gone for a running lap around the lake.  Expected time 10 minutes.  John saw him across the way within 5, but after that hadn't seen him for a half hour.  This lake does not have a trail along its edge like at Pine Meadow, so we hoped that he didn't fall in while bushwhacking or veer too far away if vegetation was too thick.  He arrived ten minutes later, having bushwhacked for 45 minutes.

Nathan pauses before a swim.

Another half hour later the boys' clothes were nearly dry.  I was able to wring mine out again, but at least they were getting somewhere.  John comments that I arrived looking like I had already swam through Pine Meadow Lake en route the rendezvous.  Nathan calls out "Sweat ball!"  My shoes are still soaked from the runoff due to gravity.  The air has become cooler within the last half hour too, and we realize clouds have rolled in.  

Ooooh, maybe we'll get the rain I've been hoping for all week.

Within minutes it begins to rain.  We wait it out beneath the canopy of trees though of course get wet.  John foresees it as a light deluge, a common northeast phenomenon of rain blowing in strong only to be gone within ten minutes.  "I bet its in its last hurrah."  Nathan isn't frustrated by being wet again,  though does find it ironic.  I'm actually grateful to feel a slight chill.  This day was the tail end of the 104 degree heat wave; only a high of 92, but nevertheless 80 degree rain felt magnificent.  The rain lightened up to a sprinkle.  "See?  Good old northeast patterns," says John.  We begin our 4 mile return hike to Sloatsburg, following the red Pine Meadow trail (that I have become so familiar with) that will take us the entire way.  And, of course the rain picks up again.  Made me smile.  "So much for your last hurrah, John."

We stopped at Pine Meadow Lake on a bit of a detour to check on an area John particularly enjoys.  The rain by then let up again, proving that this was the actual end of the storm.  In proper northeast fashion, this was the sky at the time, with enough of a change from left to right that it messed with the exposure on my cameras auto setting:

Pine Meadow lake.  To the left, blue sky.  To the right, gray misty haze and soaked boys.  Straight ahead, a rock split that reminds me of front teeth (of which I forget its name).  Worth viewing big. 

From there we continue on, make it all the way the Sloatsburg without problem.  The sun came out again, and at a point all the rocks around us in direct sunlight were steaming off the rain.  Within minutes some areas appeared as though precipitation never happened.

Past the visitor's center (the third pass for me, thank you) the tree canopy was a bit thicker and thus the ground remained a little slick in places.  I mainly took videos of the hike out, since I wanted to spare everyone the Blair Witch Project type of bounce-bounce-nauseating-shake-shake from running.  At a point I caught Nathan on camera with a little slide/trip off a rock.  He stayed on his feet, looked back at me since he could probably hear me snickering.  A few seconds later I hit the same rock and, as I probably deserved, slip and fall.  Caught myself with my hands, only injury a little bruise on the side of my knee.  Well, and a little shot to my pride, assuming there was much of it left following a day of getting fooled by the orange trail.  Anyways, my slip was also caught on film.

In Sloatsburg we had nearly 2 hours before the train, so went to the tavern for burgers.

John followed this face by saying "I haven't had beer in a while.  That's really good!"  I believe it was Yuengling.

We sat outside by request, especially because we preferred to not sit in the A/C for so long while still wet.  Eyeing direct sun on the opposite side of the porch, we laid out shoe and socks to dry.  Small town, Sloatsburg, so not many people entering/leaving the place.  But the 4 groups who left during our time there were all baffled by it.  "Shoes!  Why are shoes there?  And socks?  Funny."  Two people actually looked up and saw us over yonder on the porch and made the connection, though they still found it bizarre.  These residents obviously were not the type to travel by foot either through town or through their local trails.

They sort of got dry.  Sort of...

We left with ten minutes to spare before the train arrived, and since the platform was a mere 200 feet from the tavern we had time to stand in the sun and finish drying off our backsides since they were still a little wet.

Once home I remeasured my actual route.  My loop of orange from trail head to visitor's center version 2.0 came to 7.11 miles in about an hour's time.  Pretty good considering the elevation and terrain.  All in all the day came to 17 miles by the string when including the mile stretch from train to trailhead each direction.  Here's a summary of the day.  As always, this version (posted via link) cuts off the edges.  For the full, better experience follow the link to the actual YouTube video.  I think the HD quality was automatically removed due to the file's size during upload, but it still turned out pretty well.  I was also happy to find that my computer came with a video editing program (iMovie) and I didn't need to download some weird open source program.  This was my first edit to any video, so enjoy.  I hope to make more videos via editing in the future.

[Edit: Nathan unknowingly did as all males in my family do when a camera is around -- stick out his/their tongue in protest.  Classy.]